


Nasty Kouhai Repellent

by SapphyreLily



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Gen, Shenanigans, a bit of a sickfic?, basically the boys being idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-28 10:22:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10829310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphyreLily/pseuds/SapphyreLily
Summary: It started with a spray bottle.





	Nasty Kouhai Repellent

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bianoyami (poeticalcreation)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poeticalcreation/gifts).



> (Bia gave me the idea, it's in [this](https://twitter.com/BiaNoYami/status/858986902900355072) thread)
> 
> A sort of fic for Shirabu's birthday but also not really.

It started with the bottle.

The spray bottle.

And it was all Semi’s fault.

(It is always Semi’s fault.)

But the bottle, oh gosh, _the bottle_ – Shirabu has never been so mortified or offended or repelled in his entire _life_.

Or so drenched.

He thinks he can hear Kawanishi snickering behind him, but his attention is entirely focused on the person in front of him, and the spray bottle still raised, poised to spray.

He takes a deep breath, and shakes the water out of his hair.

Semi takes a step back, entirely unfazed, and repeats himself. “Go practice receives with Hayato for a bit.”

Shirabu glares at him. “With all due respect, _senpai_ –”

He ducks as he is sprayed again, but the action only serves to make his hair even wetter than before. He growls and pushes his fringe back, uncaring that it makes him look like an idiot. “–with all due respect, I’ve already practiced receives and it's time I practiced my sets.”

“Your receiving is still terrible. Even Taichi receives better than you.”

The snickering turns into a poorly hidden cough, but he doesn’t turn around to glare at the perpetrator. “I need to practice my setting before we begin the practice matches.”

“No, you’re going to practice your receives, because I’m going to be aiming at you during the practice matches.”

“Is that a threat, Semi-san?”

He doesn’t duck in time, and has to wipe the water out of his eyes. By the time he looks up, Semi is gone – thank the heavens – but Yamagata is standing next to him, grinning and ready to go.

He groans, but doesn’t have any choice but to follow him.

\-----

He is in the midst of shutting his locker when a hand shoots out to stop him, snatching the spray bottle from the shelf.

He sighs and turns to the thief, watching as Tendou scrutinises the bottle.

“Satori, give me that.”

“Hmm? What’s this for?”

“You know that thing where you spray cats to stop them from doing something?”

“You’re not– Oh my gosh, you _are_ serious.”

“Where have you been the whole day that you haven’t seen me using that?”

“Practicing! You know, like you were _supposed_ to be doing, but didn’t.”

Semi shrugs. “It’s effective, at least. I feel a lot less stressed.”

Tendou shakes his head and clicks his tongue, but his smirk tells a whole other story.

\-----

Practice is a _mess._

Shirabu’s been sprayed so many times that his hair is perpetually wet, and he’s creating puddles that other people slip in.

He wonders how the spray bottle has enough water for that to be an option, but decides not to question it. It’s not like Semi has decided to upend the bottle over his head yet, though he thinks they might be reaching that point.

The only upside, he thinks, is that he finally heard Coach yelling at him for doing such an inane thing.

“Eita! WHAT are you doing with that spray bottle? We are a volleyball club, not a gardening club!”

“I’m fighting pests, Washijou-sensei,” he hears. “Water is my pesticide.”

He doesn’t hear the next part because he dives to save a ball – but what he _does_ hear makes the next ball bounce off his fingers instead of his arms.

“STOP DOING STUPID THINGS AND GO PRACTICE YOUR SERVES OR SOMETHING.”

He laughs so hard that he completely misses the next ball and slips in a puddle of water.

\-----

It’s incredible, he thinks, how the spray bottle becomes something of a legend just two days into its introduction.

The bottle is taken out first at morning practice, passed from hand to hand, hidden within the mess of water bottles whenever Coach turns their way.

But at every other second during breaks or between drills, the bottle will reappear from the depths of hell, and some unfortunate soul sprayed with it.

Oh, and it has a _name_ now.

Shirabu has no idea when it appeared – or who put it there – but the bottle has large script running across one face, in the form of the words _Nasty Kouhai Repellent._

( _\+ Tendou_ is added in smaller script under it, and Shirabu doesn’t even want to know _why._ )

He feels deeply offended – _Semi-san is such an asshole_ – until he sees other people using the bottle as well.

It’s a blocking practice, he recalls, when the bottle appears not in Semi’s hands but _Tendou’s_ , and he feels a light sheen of mist drifting over him.

Beside him, Kawanishi looks equal parts surprised and taken aback, and he gapes for a moment before starting to laugh.

His best friend fixes him with an unimpressed look, but quickly backpedals when he’s sprayed again. “Taichi! Block properly!”

“I am doing my best, Tendou-san,” the blond intones, taking a few steps away from the net. “Please stop spraying me with that.”

“No! You need to use some _effort_ , it’s not so hard to block, you’re a _middle blocker_ , for goodness’ sake–”

He steps aside easily as Tendou ducks under the net, chasing after Kawanishi and spraying wildly. “Taichi! Get back here!”

Shirabu sinks to the ground, barely suppressing his laughter, and doesn’t move until Goshiki comes up to him to practice spikes.

\-----

He doesn’t think it can get worse, but it _does_.

Training camp has always been a time of intensive training, and he’s usually too tired after it to do much.

This year, there’s practice after practice, and he finally puts to use all the daily running that Coach makes them do.

He ducks into an unlocked classroom and is about to crawl under a table when a leg sticks out and trips him, making him crash into several tables.

Great. His attacker is bound to have heard that, and now he has to find a new place to hide.

Before he can curse the person who tripped him, something is shone on his face, and he has to throw up a hand to shield his eyes.

“Shirabu?”

“Semi-san?” He lowers his arm, squinting in the darkness. “What are you doing here?”

“I’d ask you that, but I think I know.” He looks from the downed boy to the closed door. “Is Satori after you?”

“Yeah, he thought I was Taichi, but I think he’s chasing me now just because.” He pauses, then fixes him with a look. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Semi lifts his other hand, brandishing a spray bottle with a grin. “Revenge.”

He cuts him off before he can say anything else. “I hear someone. Make some noise to draw him in, I’ll spray him.”

Shirabu usually doesn’t listen when Semi’s being bossy, but he can make an exception for this.

He shifts the tables back into position, making no effort to be quiet about it, then hops atop one to wait for the fallout.

His eyes aren’t very good in the darkness, but he can make out when the door opens and Semi jumps up from beside it, spraying liberally at the figure standing there.

But the figure is too tall and broad to be Tendou, and he almost chokes when he speaks.

“Semi, what are you doing?”

His tone is mild, a tad confused and irritated, and _gosh_ , what Shirabu would give to see Semi’s face right now.

“Oh, Wakatoshi. I thought you were Satori. Sorry about that.”

“Apology accepted. Kindly refrain from doing that in future, it will make someone catch a cold.”

“It’s summer.”

“Then you understand what I mean.” Ushijima turns to leave, but pauses, and it looks like he’s trying to see what Semi is holding on to. “Is that the spray bottle?”

(He’d been wondering that too. )

“Oh, this? It’s a different one. Satori has the original.”

“Ah. I had hopes that someone had taken it from him.” Ushijima’s tone is bland.

Semi snorts. “I’ll get it back. Eventually. Where is he?”

“The last I saw, he was chasing Yamagata down to the bathrooms.”

“Thanks. I’ll get him. Oi, Shirabu, come on.”

He starts when he is called – why does Semi want him along? – but slides off the table, bobbing his head in greeting as he slides past Ushijima. The older looks faintly surprised to see him, but lets him by without a word.

It’s only when they’re halfway down the hallway that he hears him call, “If you see Tendou, tell him not to run in the hallways or the bathroom. It is dangerous for everyone involved.”

Semi raises his hand in acknowledgement, but does not turn back.

\-----

Shirabu finally finds out why Semi brought him along when they reach the bathrooms and the ash blond refuses to take another step.

“No, I am _not._ ”

“ _Yes,_ you are. Your clothes are already damp, and you haven’t showered yet.”

“I’m not your meat shield.”

“You are now.” He shoves him into the bathrooms. “Go take a look around and see if Satori is in there.”

“You owe me so much for this.”

Semi sprays him, his expression unimpressed. “Go.”

He grumbles and turns to trudge through the bathroom, peeking around corners as if someone might jump out at him.

But the bathrooms are completely empty, and he returns to the entrance with slightly more confidence and the hope that he wouldn’t get sprayed another time this evening.

“There’s no one in her–”

He opens the door, but there’s no one outside it either.

The corridor is completely empty, and he curses Semi for the umpteenth time.

\-----

Kawanishi throws a bundle of clean, dry clothes at him, and he scrambles to catch them. He nearly misses the towel tossed in his direction as well, raising an eyebrow at the closed door of the sleeping area.

Kawanishi shakes his head. “You don’t want to be in there. Just go and shower.”

“Why? Did someone finally get in trouble, because _that_ I have to see–”

“Tendou-san is trying to get Ushijima-san to spray Goshiki in the face.”

“I have to see that.”

He pushes past his friend, only for an arm to go round his middle, pulling him back. “No, you don’t. Tendou-san is 'practicing' on all the second years, and you’re next if you go in.”

“Tendou-san can’t be any worse than Semi-san.”

“Yes, he is,” Kawanishi tells him with a long-suffering sigh. “I had to change my clothes twice.”

Shirabu grumbles, but he does turn away. “Fine. I’ll go shower.”

“Thank you.”

Kawanishi whistles so cheerily as they trek to the bathrooms that Shirabu isn’t sure who is happier to be escaping the water assault.

\-----

He is halfway through shampooing his hair when he hears Kawanishi calling him. “What?”

“I said, hurry up and get out here. Semi-san is chasing Tendou-san with the spray bottle.”

“Oh my god.”

He sticks his head under the faucet and tries to wash the shampoo out as fast as he can. He thinks he can hear his seniors' voices from beyond the bathroom door.

“They just ran past,” Kawanishi informs him, helpfully. “Semi-san has a spray bottle in each hand.”

“I’m coming, I'm coming!”

“They’ve just disappeared around the bend. There’s a lot of crashing and swearing. Oh, I think Tendou-san got a bottle.”

Shirabu stumbles to the door, a towel haphazardly thrown around his waist, his hair still pouring water. He pushes Kawanishi aside, peering out, just in time to see Semi and Tendou tear past, the redhead holding the spray bottles in front of him like guns.

“YOU’LL PAY FOR THIS!”

“You were supposed to shower anyway!” Semi yells back, and then they are gone again, voices echoing off the empty hallway.

He looks up, a question on the tip of his tongue, but Kawanishi gently pushes him back into the bathroom. “The spraying messed up Tendou-san's hairstyle.”

“Well, that’s interesting to know.”

“Go finish your shower.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

\-----

What’s more amazing, he finds, is how the bottle(s) have not disappeared, even after the training camp fiasco.

He doesn’t know what happened, but at some point, Coach must have given up on yelling at them, because the bottles sit openly on the ground now, and nobody says anything about them.

_It’s only been a week_ , he thinks miserably.

(A week, and he has yet to come out of a single practice with his hair dry.)

(At this rate, he would actually catch a cold.)

_(But,_ he thinks, _If I kill Semi-san first, then I would never have to catch a cold.)_

(It sounds like a better idea every time he gets a faceful of water.)

A fine spray of mist lands on his arm, and he doesn’t need to turn to know who did it.

“Tendou-san, please refrain from spraying me. I might catch a cold.”

“It’s summer, Taichi.”

“It is still possible.”

As if on cue, Shirabu sneezes.

Kawanishi waves a hand in his direction. “Case in point.”

Tendou eyes him sceptically, but puts the bottle down when a second sneeze works its way out. “I’ll tell SemiSemi to stop it just for today.”

“Thank you,” Shirabu says sarcastically, but Tendou is out of earshot.

“You’re a good actor,” Kawanishi says.

“That wasn’t acting.” He sneezes again, and wipes his face with a sigh.

He hopes he doesn’t get sick.

\-----

He sneezes three times in quick succession and the ball he was supposed to set drops in front of him, hitting his foot and bouncing away. “Sorry!”

Reon shakes his head kindly. “You’ll get the next one.”

He nods numbly and lifts his head, but he can feel another sneeze coming on as the opposing team serves again.

He manages to set the ball before another sneeze erupts from him, but he knows without looking that the set is terrible.

“Kenjirou!”

He cringes – and sneezes again. He turns to face Washijou hesitantly, barely suppressing another sneeze. “Yes, Coach?”

Washijou glares at him, and he tries, he really does, but he ends up sneezing again, hard enough that his eyes water.

By the time he stops sneezing – or not, he can feel yet another one coming on – he sees that he has turned away, and there are hands on his shoulders, guiding him off court.

He doesn’t – can’t look to see who it is, but he gratefully takes the tissue pressed into his hands, covering his nose and mouth with it and trying to regain his breath.

A towel is draped over his head, and he glances up through its folds.

Semi raises an eyebrow at him, and he manages to form half a scowl before he starts sneezing again.

“Okay, we’re going to the nurse. Coach is right.” The ash blond grumbles as he pulls Shirabu after him, and he doesn’t even have the energy to point out that it’s Semi’s fault that he’s sick.

(He thinks they got excused from practice.)

(Hallelujah, because he can’t breathe anymore.)

The nurse’s office is empty save for them, and after giving him several packets of tissues, some medication and reminding him to drink lots of water, they are sent off. Semi insists on walking him back to the dorm, and he doesn’t protest.

(He is making him hold all the packets of tissue, anyway.)

Semi doesn’t say a single word as they walk back, and Shirabu can’t muster enough energy to make a snarky remark. It makes him feel weird, as if something is missing, but his head is pounding badly enough that he couldn’t care less.

He does not realise what is happening until it’s halfway done – his shirt pulled off him, and a new one forced on. “What-?”

“Don’t argue, just finish changing your clothes and go to bed.”

It takes all of his energy to protest, “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“Yes, I do.” The towel is put back on his head, his hair ruffled aggressively as he tries to rub the water out of it. “It’s my fault you’re sick.”

It takes a few moments to register that, and he manages a short laugh before he starts sneezing again. He takes the tissue offered, blowing his nose loudly.

Semi sighs above him. “I _am_ sorry for making you sick.”

“Oh, of course.”

“Don’t make me regret being nice to you,” Semi threatens, rubbing his hair more ferociously. “You’ve been a lot less rude since the spray bottle, and it’d be nice if you could keep it that way.”

“That’s your fault,” Shirabu whines around the tissue. “I’m not ready to lose my spot on the team for killing you.”

He flinches away, expecting a spray of water, but getting a hard tug on his hair instead.

Oh, right. The bottle is in the gym.

A packet of tissue is thrown onto his lap, and his hair is ruffled more gently. His head hurts enough that he leans into the soothing sensation.

“Here. Take the pills and go to sleep.”

He is rudely jolted by a bottle shoved into his hand, his other palm cupping a few pills. He briefly wonders where the tissue has gone, but swallows the pills obediently and passes the bottle to the waiting hand.

Then he is being pushed onto the bed, a blanket thrown over him, and a box of tissue placed next to his head.

He blinks blearily at the box, but his head is heavy and his nose is too clogged for more comprehensive thoughts.

Oh. Semi’s glaring at him.

“Do not move,” he enunciates slowly, “From this bed. I’ll come check on you after practice.”

He thinks he wrinkles his nose, he isn’t sure, but then Semi’s snorting and flicking his forehead. “Brat.”

It sounds almost affectionate, and it makes him want to stick his tongue out at his retreating back.

The room is quiet after he leaves, punctuated only by the wheezing caused by his blocked nose. It’s difficult to fall asleep, but one advantage of this arrangement, he finds, is that he is no longer being assaulted by the spray bottle.

(Small victories, one at a time.)

(Some other day, he’ll get rid of that bottle for good.)

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know I can't write funny things


End file.
